


Deconstruction

by objectlesson



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, sex like fighting, vulcan angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 13:02:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock wants to take Kirk apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deconstruction

**Author's Note:**

> I have an enormous amount of sympathy for Kirk's character in this fandom, because I relate to the excess of feeling. I thought Spock would be harder for me to write, because restraint if not my strength, but I ended up fascinated with his inability to stop himself, in spite of everything working against him. In many ways, Spock is the more human character. He'd hate to hear me say that. You know, if he were a real person. Vulcan. Whatever. I don't own them!

There is no logical explanation for Spock’s deep, visceral desire to take apart Jim Kirk. 

People are meant to be whole. That is even how Spock prefers Kirk. He wouldn’t be able to function in pieces, because humans are fragile. Spock _knows_ this, the same way he knows that he is fifty percent Vulcan striving for a whole, that he is fighting a losing battle to the weakest part of himself. Regardless of this knowing, the desire it still there, buried beneath figurative wires and circuitry. In that weakest part, the deepest part, Spock wants to take Kirk apart. He wants to deconstruct him, push on his bones until they crack, slide his hands up underneath his skin into the slick pocket between muscle and epidermis. 

It’s terribly, terribly illogical to love someone, and it is even more so to want also to destroy him. Spock’s tried to trace the origin of this desire, he’s tried to meditate on it, he’s tried to meditate on everything _but_ it; he’s tried. But it remains. He doesn’t want to _hurt_ Kirk, not in any concrete way. He just wants to feel all of him and feel all of him reduced to dust, because that is the strength of the misery of loving him. 

They’re in bed, and this is always hard for Spock. It’s gotten easier the more it happens, but every time it’s still a fight inside of him, a war between logic and feeling where feeling always wins because it is real and immediate and surges until his blood boils and he stops caring, where as logic is logic and logic always cedes to things that cannot be stopped. 

“You’re staying,” Kirk observes with mild, smiling surprise in his voice. He’s on his back with one knee bent, unclothed and loose muscled with a sheen of sweat still glistening at his hairline. He’s beautiful in this effortless way, and Spock’s hand, which is resting on his own thigh, moves to splay across Kirk’s chest, pale and more certain than he is. He presses down, quaking with how difficult it is to keep from breaking Kirk’s ribcage apart. 

“Affirmative,” he says in a low voice, eyes fixed on the pulse shuddering in Kirk’s throat. 

Kirk’s palm shifts to cover Spock’s, hand closing while his smile opens lazily to show his teeth. “Though I am quite glad, I am also skeptical, Mr. Spock, that you will be staying for very long.” There is a note of sadness to his voice, but Kirk has always had a talent for making sadness sound like something bronzer. 

Spock shakes his head, sliding trembling fingers across Kirk’s sternum and up to the golden hollow beneath his clavicle, thumb ghosting the cords in his throat. Kirk’s eyelids flutter closed, and Spock drops his lips to the left one, the weakest part of him growing, extinguishing the surrounding areas that all hiss _no_. “I am finding it increasingly difficult to leave,” he says quietly, against Kirk’s skin. 

There is a moment of quiet, and Spock hears Kirk’s breath catch, though it is a sound too quiet for humans to hear. 

“I want to take comfort in your reluctance, but I know better than that. However, I will thankfully remain here as long as you wish, and count my blessings as they come.” Kirk’s voice rumbles through him, and Spock’s grip involuntarily tightens around his throat, just for a moment, just to feel the fragility of humanity race under is fingertips. He wants to be as strong as Kirk imagines him to be, but he knows that he is not, and that he _will_ stay. Stay long enough to do all of the things he has just done to Kirk again, because he’s already given in and what’s one time more? Then he wonders if it is strength at all to run from something you’ve already ceded to, or just another brand of weakness. 

Spock can taste the salt of Kirk’s sweat, and beyond his control he’s skating his open mouth across Kirk’s brow, tongue wide and sweeping and wanting. His body, which had been beside Kirk’s, shifts to cover him and press into him, all of the soft planes fusing and the bones grinding like time. He thinks of how easy it would be to snap this golden skeleton beneath him into bits, fish them out of a soup of organs arranged in vulnerable, human formation. Then suddenly, there is a dry sob choking out of him and into Kirk’s hair, where his lips are buried. 

“This is so hard for you, but you do it anyway. You continue doing it, almost as if you must,” Kirk breathes, nails raking the taut muscles in Spock’s back. He rakes his teeth up Spock’s neck, then follows the path with his tongue. “You are so beautiful.” 

If Spock were capable of laughter, he would have laughed in this moment, for Kirk finds him beautiful in spite of and even for his hidden humanity while he abhors it, though he finds Kirk beautiful for his humanity, as well. He thinks of how long he has fought and denied humanity, only to fall in love with it. 

The amount of feeling in his chest seems enough to kill him, yet here he is, breathing and with a beating heart, hands alive and moving across Kirk’s skin like they will drown without it. 

“Jim,” he mumbles, which means many things, but in this moment, means _help_. 

“Yes,” Kirk says like he’s answering a prayer, and forces Spock’s chin where he wants it. 

Then they’re kissing, and Kirk’s mouth is almost too hot to take as it always seems, yet somehow Spock survives it, every time. He clasps a hand on the side of Kirk’s face, thumbs his mouth apart, licks his teeth and bites his lower lip so hard Kirk makes a noise and buckles underneath him with a furrow in his brow. 

When this, which Spock does not have a name for, began, he would bite and claw and fuck with such force that Kirk was constantly cringing, constantly bleeding. Spock used to pull away from it, wild with a fear that he’d actually hurt Kirk, but every time Kirk would shake his head fiercely, take Spock’s neck between his palms and drag him back towards him, saying _no, no, I want it. I want that. All of it_. 

Because he’s trained himself to ignore Kirk’s expressions of pain, he keeps kissing him, sucking at his tongue and clenching fists on his shoulders, so deep he can feel small organic things snapping and twisting under his fingers. Kirk’s body bends and curves up into him, filling the vacancies between their bodies that are created by the lurches and jerks of Spock’s moving hips. Spock feels Kirk spread his legs beneath him, and then they are touching there, welded together at the place on Spock’s body that he spent the better part of thirty years trying to forget.   
Kirk tears his mouth away, gasping in air before he sinks his teeth into the skin of Spock’s shoulder. “What do you want? What do you want, I’ll give it to you,” he gasps as his lips move to Spock’s throat, leaving a dappled, green, half-moon indentation and a string of saliva. “I’ll give you whatever you want, Spock, just tell me what it is.” 

Spock is dizzy with the too-hot, too-wet feeling of Kirk’s sweating, longing body trapped beneath his. The muscles in this thighs twitch, and for a split second he tries to break himself out of it, tries to shatter the tension and cant his body away from Kirk’s, but he cannot. So instead he allows himself to be weak and to be taken, and takes. “You cannot give me what I want,” he murmurs, pushing Kirk deep into the regulation rust colored mattress in his quarters and feeling along the hard, slatted surface of his ribcage with a dangerous pressure. “Because I want all of you.” 

Kirk laughs, a low sound that makes a fist in Spock’s gut. Then he palms the outside of Spock’s thigh, pulling them closer so their legs fit and lock together like something fashioned for purpose. “You, my friend, are mistaken. There is not a thing of mine that is not also yours. I am not the one who holds back.”

His eyes are impossibly dark, and there are chaotic spots of color on his cheeks. Spock sways into kiss something, that darkness, that flush, his parted, swollen mouth, anything. Instead, he stops millimeters short and sways in his last stand of restraint. Shaking his head no, he says, “In spite of my efforts not to, I have touched every inch of you. Yet, that is still not enough.” He closes his eyes, his brow flush against Kirk’s and their hips working together in desperate, clumsy strokes. “It is illogical, but I also desire your flesh. Your bones. In addition to your skin, Jim. Forgive me.” He whispers this, sure that one day, the tide of his desire will tear apart the shore that is Jim Kirk, and he will batter himself to sea foam against volcanic rock. 

“You want to be inside of me,” Kirk says, tongue a mindless thing as it laps for corner of Spock’s mouth, the edge of his jaw. His hand forces its way between them, closing over the length of Spock’s dick and jerking upwards in a blinding surge of heat. “Then fuck me, Spock. I want you there.” 

“It is not enough. It will be enough, for a moment, for a day, perhaps, but then I will want all of you again,” Spock manages to say because it seems important, though the things around him seem as if they are dissolving, reducing the world to this one place where Jim Kirk’s body is holding his own. He wants desire to be an escapable thing, because this need to destroy terrifies him, stretches ahead of him like a life of being condemned to sensation. 

“Mr. Spock, I am sorry to tell you that what you’re speaking of is merely the condition of being in love,” Kirk says, hand relentless, lips damp and moving against Spock’s ear. “If it is any...consolation, however, please know that I, too, wish I could deconstruct you until there was nothing left to touch. But I also know that, even then, it would not be enough.” 

Somewhere inside of himself, Spock also knows this is true. “There is nothing I can do,” he says, condemned to a life of sensation. He’s rutting into Kirk’s hand, animal and hungry and barely capable of holding onto words.   
“You can stay,” Kirk whispers between kisses, thumbing along the satin-slick precum beading at the head of Spock’s dick. “You can stay, and you can fuck me, and when it becomes unbearable, you can fuck me again.” 

And because logic is logic and logic always cedes to things that cannot be stopped, Spock seals their mouths, and takes apart Jim Kirk.


End file.
